The Twelve Days Of Locklyle
by One Bright Light
Summary: In which Lucy is confused and annoyed, Lockwood is being weird, giving her presents and acting disconcertingly innocent, and George is enjoying the show. In other words, Christmas had come to Lockwood & Co. and what better way to celebrate than with some fluff about our favourite couple?


**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**I HAVEN'T READ THE WHISPERING SKULL YET, SO THIS ONESHOT COMPLETELY IGNORES THAT BOOK (SORRY!).**

**LUCY AND LOCKWOOD ARE OFFICIALLY A COUPLE THROUGHOUT THIS ONESHOT, SO THIS ISN'T A 'FALLING-IN-LOVE' TYPE OF STORY, JUST FLUFF.**

* * *

**Twelve Days Of Locklyle**

**~o.O.0.O.o~**

* * *

**ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...ONE SHINY NEW GHOST RAPIER.**

I squinted at the long silver blade leaning against my desk. Nope, couldn't be new, could it? I walked over to my desk and picked the rapier up, flourishing it in the harsh winter sunlight.

I gasped and put a hand in front of my mouth. "Lockwood!"

The teen looked up from one of his gossip magazines, raising an eyebrow. "What is it, Lucy?"

I stared at him. "What's this?" I pointed at the rapier blinking in my hand like a Ghost-lamp.

Lockwood studied me for a few moments, before looking back at his magazine and turning a page. "It's a new rapier. For you."

I blinked, looked back at the rapier. "But... my old one is perfectly fine!"

He shifted in his seat before standing up and shuffling some papers around. "I thought you could use a new one. It's an untested alloy of Italian make... a special mixture of iron and silver."

I put a hand on my hip. "Oh, so now I'm your guinea pig to test new ideas on?"

He made to leave, but stopped at the door, looking back at me with a curious stare. "Be glad you got something." He stopped, chuckled and winked at me. "Although... this is only the first day after all."

Lockwood closed the door, leaving me staring at my new rapier, perplexed and annoyed.

* * *

**ON THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...TWO CHRISTMAS STOLLEN.**

I walked into the kitchen, only to find it was full of fog.

Well, perhaps smoke would be the more accurate description. Heavy, grey sheets obscured my view of the kitchen and I shrieked, scrambling back and almost dropping my sketchbook. I cursed softly and stepped tentatively back into the room, looking around in confusion. "George? What did you _do?_"

A few feet away from me, about where I guessed the oven was, coughing sounds captured my attention. I took a few steps into the kitchen, squinting into the smog. A window creaked open and in the new draft, I could make out a hunched figure violently retching. I stepped forward and my eyes widened.

"Lockwood?"

He straightened and ran his fingers through his hair, which was disheveled and full of white flour. His face had several sticky yellow markings and there was a long, brownish-red streak over his left cheekbone.

I took his appearance in and blew my cheeks out. "Whyyy... does the kitchen look like an atomic bomb exploded inside it?"

He looked at me with a severely wounded expression. "I made Stollen."

"What?" I looked around the kitchen. As the smoke slowly dissipated and cold December air filled the room, I could make out the remnants of his efforts. The kitchen table was strewn with baking equipment and several cupboards were hanging open. In a baking tray on the kitchen table sat two misshapen brownish-black lumps.

I looked from Lockwood to the lumps. "Uh... Stollen?"

"Christmas Stollen," he said, waving away some of the smoke and selecting a knife from one of the drawers around the kitchen. I stepped back as he cut through the crusty burnt outside to reveal a bread-like medley of raisins, cinnamon, citrus fruits and grain. He cut another slice and held it out to me. "It's a German recipe. Want to try?"

I dubiously accepted a slice and, cringing, bit into it...

...but surprised when it actually tasted quite average. Granted, it as still burned and crumbly - and a smidgen too gritty and dry for my liking - but it didn't taste like the pile of ashes and wood chips I'd been expecting.

I hummed in surprise and raised my eyebrows, nodding. "Huh, it definitely tastes better than it looks."

He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Thank you." He cut himself another slice. "I've never cooked before, and it was Christmas time, so I thought I might as well try something new."

I smirked. "Ah... yes. Apart from the Stollen..."

I broke off as George appeared in the doorway, his mouth hanging open. The ghost-jar was tucked under his arm, and even the skull stared in perplexity at the state of the kitchen. George took a few steps into the ruined room, his gaze fixed on Lockwood.

"What did you do to my beautiful kitchen?"

* * *

**ON THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...THREE BLOCKS OF SKETCHING PAPER.**

I hummed, making my way down to my desk, munching on some leftover Stollen. After George's initial fury at having '_his_' kitchen defiled, he'd quickly come to see the good in it when Lockwood gave him a taste of his cooking.

We'd eaten almost all of it yesterday, and I'd surely later face the consequences of nicking the last bite from the pantry, but for the moment, everything was quiet, peaceful and I was going to have a nice few hours of drawing.

I had set my plate on the desk and sunken into my comfy office chair (it was one of the ones you can spin around and around on and get dizzy, too) before noticing the package on my desk.

Afterwards, I really felt quite stupid at missing it - really, it was a huge tower of paper, practically glowing white in the bleak winter daylight, wrapped with an equally bright red-and-gold ribbon.

I raised my eyebrows and cocked my head at the stack, before carefully unwinding the ribbon and taking it apart. A small label on the plastic foil packaging told me it came from one of the most expensive stationery stores in the city, and you could really see it - the paper was fine, but not see-through and smooth, but not slippery.

Somebody who'd known about my drawing had invested serious time and money to get me three whole blocks of fancy-shmancy sketching paper...

"Lucy!" George called. You absolutely did _not_ take the last Stollen!"

Ah, life.

* * *

**ON THE FOURTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...FOUR SHARP NEW PENCILS.**

I had my suspicions about who'd given me the sketching paper now and they were only confirmed when Lockwood strode into the room, twirling in his fingers a packet of… pencils?

He slid the foil package onto my desk, not breaking a stride, and as I looked up from my book, I immediately spotted the same store label the sketching blocks had sported.

I looked up at Lockwood, narrowing my eyes, but he'd curled up in his armchair like a lazy cat and was flicking idly through the pages of yet another gossip magazine.

I picked up a pencil (not one of the ones he'd given me, one of my own collection) and threw it at him, hitting him squarely on the forehead. He jumped and glared at me, holding a hand to the red mark I'd left. "Ouch! What is it, Luce?"

I picked up the pencils - they were very nice pencils, I'd give him that - and shook them at him. "What is this?"

"Pencils, obviously," he told me. Seeing that I wasn't satisfied, he quickly added: "They're arranged in two-step hardness, from H to 9B. I got them to tell me what the recommended pencils for sketching were and..."

"Okay, okay, stop," I groaned. "What in blazes are they for, though?"

Lockwood looked at me and shrugged, before twitching his lips in a half-smile. "Well, I guess they're for drawing. Don't you like sketching?"

He proceeded to leave the room with an infuriatingly casual dip of his head to me.

I proceeded to very maturely and methodically gouge long slashes into the side of my desk.

Well, it was his fault for being so mysterious!

* * *

**ON THE FIFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...FIVE CUPS OF CINNAMON TEA.**

I walked into the kitchen for breakfast and a steaming teacup full of amber liquid awaited me. The pot sat next to it and I plopped into a seat and considered the headline of the newspaper George was reading. It currently blocked my view of him and I couldn't say I was too disappointed.

I helped myself to a piece of toast, considering my already-filled cup with confusion, before shrugging and draining it in three gulps. The taste of warm cinnamon passed my lips and I smiled, feeling all Christmas-y.

"Oh, this tastes great. Who made it?"

"I did," Lockwood said, materialising out of nowhere and filling up my cup from a ceramic pot in his hands. I stared at him, and then down at the cup, perplexed.

"Uh, okay..." I took a gulp and smiled at him, pausing to say, "It's nice" before finishing my cup again and setting it on the table beside me and reaching for the jam, only to draw my hand back as the unmistakable sound of tea sloshing into my cup drew my attention.

I stared at Lockwood, then at the cup (now full, for the record), then back at Lockwood (now innocently smiling, for the record). I raised my eyebrows and reached for the jam again. Lockwood stayed standing beside me and I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes before reaching for my cup again and slowly draining my tea, all while keeping an eye on him.

He didn't move.

George lowered his newspaper only enough for me to see his eyes, which flitted between me and Lockwood for a few seconds before he raised the publication back to obscure the view.

I set my cup carefully back on the table.

Lockwood filled it up again.

I turned in my seat and stared him in the face. He politely smiled at me and avoided my eyes. "Something wrong, Luce?"

I focused on him in an intense stare, studying him like I would a suspected murderer. He didn't budge. Silence filled the room, only broken by George turning a crackling dry page.

I stayed that way for several more seconds, before buttering my toast and covering it with morello cherry jam. I bit into it, pointedly ignoring Lockwood.

After a few seconds of chewing, I picked up my cup and emptied it once again. I almost set it down on the table, before looking up at Lockwood and suspiciously narrowing my eyes at him. Slowly, I set the cup back down.

Would it surprise you when I said he filled the cup yet again?

Only this time, after filling up my cup, he walked briskly to the kitchen sink and tipped the rest of the teapot's contents down it. He set the empty pot on the counter before leaving the kitchen.

I stared at the amber cinnamon liquid in my cup, finally finding a few words to express my puzzlement.

"Well then."

* * *

**ON THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...SIX OF ARIF'S CHRISTMAS DOUGHNUTS.**

The next time was actually quite pleasant - except for the way my stomach ached afterward. Lockwood had lit three candles on our Advent Wreath, and the three of us sat around it that evening, sharing doughnuts and anecdotes.

Our get-together lasted late into the night, and I became pleasantly drowsy towards the end, which I blamed on last night's case - nothing big, just a Cold Maiden. They always take a while to subdue. The point being, I didn't _quite_ catch just how many doughnuts I'd eaten.

I was later told it was a grand total of six, all of them stuffed with a different kind of Yuletide Delight.

Well, at least the stomach pains were worth it then. Although I do remember feeling quite ticked at Lockwood, being that he was the one who pressured me to eat "just one more".

* * *

**ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...SEVEN BOXES OF LONDON MINTS.**

My satchel - I absolutely refused to call it a purse for obvious reasons - was full to the brink that day and pretty bulky. That astonished me, even more so when I opened my satchel to reveal it was stuffed with not one, not two, but seven boxes of mints.

The whole thing was a constant source of confusion for the rest of my day. I ended up cornering Lockwood, who made several excuses - which I ignored - several pleas for help directed towards George - which George ignored - and finally escaped me when the doorbell announced a new case.

I was quite irritable for the rest of the day, and the miserable weather wasn't helping. It was raining wet snow again, and the world was slushy, cold and grey.

* * *

**ON THE EIGHTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...EIGHT ISSUES OF TRUE HAUNTINGS.**

Perhaps this day was one of the better ones since December had begun. Overnight, the air had turned crisp, and light but strikingly cold snowflakes had fallen, now lacing everything with a light whitish-silver sheen.

And my desk was piled with eight copies - _eight!_ \- of the _British Gazetteer of True Hauntings_, one of the most-known and best-received-by-the-ghost-hunter-community Haunting Magazines. They were the ones who told the truth when it came to cases (well, mostly) and they were the ones you could usually rely on the get the whole story on a Visitor.

I'd seen Lockwood reading them, but he was pretty iffy about his collection, and didn't let just anybody touch them. George and I knew he had a collection, and that it dated back about ten years (which meant around 120 magazines Lockwood kept locked up somewhere...) but that was about it.

And now, eight issues lay in front of me. On my desk. That were mine to take. I jerked up as Lockwood burst into the office from the secret stairwell. He stopped when he saw me bent over the stack, smiling at me.

I smiled back. "Lockwood..." I said in a suspicious, teasing tone. "Did you...?"

I held up one of the leaflets - it was the one covering the Mortlake Horror, imagine _that!_ \- and Lockwood seemed to catch my meaning. His smile grew nervous.

"Yes, I thought you might want some of those."

"Lockwood," I asked, "what is this all for?"

"Can't I give you a present just because?" he asked back, then winked and strolled over to his desk.

He ignored my questions after that.

* * *

**ON THE NINTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...NINE CRUNCHY COCONUT BOMBS.**

See, one of the more known Confectioneries in London had this idea about a ghost-hunting scheme, which led to all of their wares being re-wrapped and re-named with references to popular ghost-hunting equipment.

There were... Candy Rapiers (candy canes, except with little aluminium guards on them), Liquorice Chains (to make a protective liquorice circle with - _yay_), Sugar Webs (the company totally ignored the fact that spider webs weren't part of ghost-hunting equipment - just a sign of the ghosts themselves), and Coconut Bombs.

And it was on that particularly wild day - the snow was falling in thick, cold flakes that looked wonderfully fluffy - that I approached my desk to make the discovery that Lockwood had struck again.

And no, I didn't regret at all that that statement made him sound like a serial killer.

On my desk lay a glimmery white-golden package with intricate writing proclaiming it to be '_Nine Nifty Coconut Bombs (to sweetly scare away the Spectres!)_'. The three-by-three box held nine small, round chocolate and caramel dollops, covered in coconut flakes. (How the company compared _these_ things to salt bombs, I had no idea.) I groaned and shook my head, grabbing up the box and marching back up into the kitchen.

I opened the secret door and marched up to Lockwood. "Okay, spill. What are these for?"

He took a disinterested look at them, then took a sip of tea and returned to his perusal of a sheaf of case notes. "I'd guess they're for eating."

I yelled in frustration and stomped back to the basement, too cross to even bother grilling him for information. It wouldn't work anyway. In the meantime...

...I could practise sparring to take out some of my frustration.

...and after that, I could help myself to those delicious Coconut Bombs.

* * *

**ON THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...TEN SILVER CHARMS.**

The jewelry box was a dark royal blue, with the company's logo and name stamped on in neat silver lines. I stared at it for a moment, dreading to open it - my desk had become a place full of the most irritating surprises.

Finally, I sighed and set it aside. I would try and ignore it for the time being.

Sadly, it was easier thought than done.

I tried concentrating on the research I was doing. My eyes, though, kept straying from my monotonous work and flitting over to the spot of blue on my desk. When I pulled myself together and fixed my eyes back on the files, I would struggle to find where I'd left off reading in the tiny black lines.

After awhile, I gave up on the research with a frustrated noise and reached for my new sketching paper and pencils. Maybe I'd be able to concentrate better if I drew something; maybe that would help me relax.

_Yeah, nice try_, my brain seemed to say. _I don't think so._

I slammed my fist on the table (the one _not_ holding the pencil, if I slammed that one, I'd end up breaking the lead) and threw my head back, contemplating the dilemma. I looked at the innocent, small box, and how much it was pulling me off-task, and before I knew what I was doing, I'd snatched it up and opened it.

Needless to say, I almost wished I hadn't.

Inside the box was a charm bracelet consisting of simple, polished silver links, and lined at equal intervals with charms: a simple Christian cross, a small dagger, a cursive capital '_L_', probably to signify _Lucy_, and many more.

I stared at it, before reading the small note tucked into the box. It was in Lockwood's neat print, and it read: '_This bracelet is pure silver. It may not ward off Visitors like iron filings or chains would, but I thought it would suit you. -L_'

I fastened the bracelet to my wrist with some hesitance, staring at it as the silver flashed brightly.

I was too confused for the rest of the day to give Lockwood a good smack over the head.

* * *

**ON THE ELEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...ELEVEN GINGERBREAD GHOSTS.**

After the infamous 'Stollen Incident', Lockwood had agreed never to utilise the kitchen again, so I stared in surprise when I came up the stairwell for afternoon tea, opened the secret door, and got a face full of smoke.

My eyes watered and I started coughing immediately, turning away from the grey curtain to shield my face. "Lockwood?" I called out.

A window was opened and a cold draft tugged at my hair. I glanced back into the kitchen and intrepidly took a step forward. In the dissipating smog, I started to make out Lockwood, bent over a tray at the kitchen table and waving away smoke from his face.

I joined him. "Sooo... What's this?"

He tapped the table in an irritated, defeated manner. "I... tried to make gingerbread cookies."

"'_Tried_' being the operative verb there."

He gave me a wry chuckle. His hair was almost white with flour this time, and his face had several dollops of raw gingerbread on it. I sighed and inspected the tray. About thirty poor, warped biscuits had been placed on it, most of which were an unhealthy dark brown to black complexion now. _Some_ were still okay, but they were all rather battered.

Even so, each of the cookies had the same distinctive shape...

I laughed. "You cut them in the shape of ghosts?" And not our kind of Visitors, either, no, he'd cut them after the ghost you used to see in children's books, the ones that looked like a cross between flying bed sheets and white bats. He'd even poked _eyes_ in them!

Lockwood flushed. "Ah... yes."

I snickered and picked up one of the not-quite-burned ghosts, popping it in my mouth. I chewed, nodding my head. "Hmm... Needs a little spice and it's rather hard, but otherwise fine."

Lockwood smiled. "Thank you." He started picking the ghosts up, piling them inside a tin which stood open on the table, sorting out which ones were edible and which ones… weren't.

We were interrupted by a cough from the kitchen door. George was standing there, analyzing the kitchen with an annoyed face. He glared at Lockwood, righting his glasses and pointing a finger at our employer. "_Never again,_" he growled.

Lockwood flushed and I laughed. "In the future, you should leave the baking to George."

In total, fifteen gingerbread ghosts were salvageable. Lockwood insisted I eat exactly eleven of them. Why, you ask? Well, I'm asking the same thing.

* * *

**ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...**

**...A HUGE SURPRISE!**

It was rather suspicious, really. It was late afternoon, and nothing had happened. And by that, I mean no smoke in the kitchen, no stationary, no cheesily packed candy - essentially no unwanted surprises at all.

And I was stumped, to say the least. At mid-morning, I'd been pleasantly surprised, at lunch, confused, and now I was just suspicious of the calm. To top it off, Lockwood had been acting too innocent and too much as if nothing was wrong... I'd made my mind up to talk to him.

And that was why I'd clattered down the stairwell and into his office, only to run into the exact person I was searching for - more specifically, into his lips.

I stood immobile for a few seconds before Lockwood pulled me in and I responded to his kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck. Okay, I shouldn't have been surprised. True, we were officially a couple, but we hadn't yet gotten past that awkward do-I-kiss-or-don't-I stage.

So this was a surprise.

Wait… why the heck was he kissing me again? And why wasn't I responding to this by pushing him away and asking him what was going on?

I didn't really care, since my brain had just about gotten to computing that were were _kissing._

So, of course, we ended up standing next to each other, trying to catch our breath. I looked up at him and asked in an embarrassingly coy way: "So... what was _that_ for?"

Lockwood looked at me for a second, then chuckled. "Lucy, have you really not looked at the calendar for the last twelve days?"

I stared at him stupidly and then at the efficient grey scale calendar above his desk. Sure enough, a number of days around the box labelled "Christmas" were marked in red and green highlighter - twelve days, to be exact. To be more exact, they were the eleven days before today and today. And on today's small box, Lockwood's neat print read out: 'Twelfth Night'.

"The Twelve Days of Christmas," I said. "Today's the twelfth day, and tonight's Twelfth Night. So what?"

And the answer came to me just as I spoke those words, and I groaned, leaning back and slapping my forehead. "Oh no. _No._ No, this is not happening."

Lockwood smiled slyly and watched my display of bemused horror with amusement. "_Finally_ figured it out, have you?"

I glared at him. "We are _not_ doing this. You have _no_ right to gloat over this."

"Oh, but I do, m'lady," he said grandly, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Lockwood, the great man who confused Lucy Carlyle for Twelve Days of Christmas."

I groaned and slunk down in my desk chair - convenient, it was right next to me - and banged my head against the table. "And it was so _obvious._"

Lockwood laughed. I put my face in my hands, sighing. "Oh Lord, I am horrible at deduction."

Lockwood's hand on my shoulder prompted me to look up at him. He smiled at me, sitting down on my desk in front of me. "You do know it's not over, right?" he asked me.

I glared at him. "What? You've got more ideas to make me miserable?"

He laughed quietly. "No, but you know what the tradition is. One present on the first day, two presents on the second day..."

"Blah, blah, blah, twelve presents on the twelfth day," I grumbled at him. "I'm waiting?"

"Well, last I checked, I only gave you one kiss," he said, leaned in and started counting.

By two, I'd overcome my confusion.

By four, I was responding.

By five, I no longer felt so miserable.

By eight, I was laughing between kisses.

And by ten, I was counting with him.

* * *

_They didn't notice George quietly shut the door and tip-toe back to his room, fangirling all the while._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Ehehe... Look who finally made that Christmas oneshot she was talking about. Yeah... But since it's Twelfth Night for me today, I decided to actually do something - so here's some Locklyle for Twelfth Night!**

**Mostly I haven't had time cause my family dragged me to go camping over New Years - and before you ask why, I live in New Zealand, so we have summer over here, not winter. It was cool though, we got to see beautiful fireworks. Happy 2015 to all of you! :)**

**Anyways, shout-out to anybody who reviewed my other Locklyle oneshot, 'Haunted Kisses'! This person loves all of you! Also, thanks to PaintHorseLover for not raging at me and asking where that Christmas oneshot I promised was.**

**Headcanons:**** George kinda puts up with Locklyle, but in reality, he supports them and totally fangirls over them. Lockwood is fair at cooking, but he messes up the kitchen every time, so they should really leave that to George. Oh, and Lucy and Lockwood don't act all lovey-dovey around each other - even though they are officially a couple in this fic. (Yeah, sorry 'bout that.)**

**READ &amp; REVIEW!**

_**Joyeux Noël et une Bonne Année, mes copines!**_


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